


After the Not-Apocalypse

by endless_appetizers



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, Kissing, M/M, Spooning, cursing, forking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-03
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-07-30 03:36:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20090629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/endless_appetizers/pseuds/endless_appetizers
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley cope with the consequences of their actions as Heaven and Hell attempt to get on with the War.





	1. Dining at the Ritz

Chapter One: Dining at the Ritz

The second round of sparkling wine, a lovely French Chateau les Bertrands, went down nearly immediately after the first. The toast of champagne moments earlier had been lovely, but the adrenaline high from world saving had worn down and the worrying was beginning to set in. The Angel and Demon were gazing at each other in a way that had started off as such fondness and love, but melted into concern as the courses of their meal went on.

  
“Crowley,” the Angel started, swallowing the remainder of his wine and reaching for another spoonful of chocolate mousse, “when do you suppose they’ll want to give us another talking to?”

  
Crowley slid his dessert portion over to Aziraphale and looked at him over his sunglasses. “Dunno, angel. Suppose they’ll eventually want an explanation as to why we aren’t goo,” he drawled.

  
That’s what Aziraphale was afraid of: no idea of how to keep going under the radar when now they were both giant blinking blips. He stuck the spoonful of mousse into his mouth, but nothing tastes very nice when you have worry in your head. He put his spoon down, and Crowley tilted his head at him.

  
“Come on now, angel, you love dessert. Are you so worried about them? Heaven and Hell are scared of us, if anything. They’ll leave us alone for a while. We have loads of time to figure out how to protect ourselves and all the little humans that live on Earth,” the Demon comforted. He put down his empty glass and patted the top of Aziraphale’s hand. Being comforting was not something Demons did, but Crowley’s Angel was fretting and worrying, and that usually led to bickering and being less than honest, knowing their Antichrist snafu. If he had learned anything over the last six thousand years, it was the behavioral patterns of his best friend.

  
“I know your side’s scared, there’s really no other way to destroy a Demon…” Aziraphale supposed. “I mean, in the sense that Holiest of Holy Water did nothing to ‘you’, and I’ve honestly no clue how you lot go about murdering each other.”

  
“There’s, ehhh… Levels. Your lot has got principalities and archangels and cherubs. We’re more of a horrible rotting kingdom, but same concept. We have Lord Beelzebub. More of a prince of Hell, if you ask me. Some of them are Dukes. Hastur is one. Ligur was one. Until I melted him.”

  
“Right, yes, that’s what your trial was for. A quite unfair trial, might I add. I wasn’t able to have any defense.” Aziraphale frowned and his forehead creased.

  
“What did you expect out of Hell? They do like a spectacle, don’t they, though? You, eh… You didn’t have a trial.”

  
Aziraphale paused, pursed his lips, then met Crowley’s eyes. “I didn’t?”

  
“Nope,” Crowley replied, popping the ‘P’ at the end. He reclined in his seat, giving Aziraphale room to think and make sense of it. It was unfair, or at least Crowley thought it was. It was the assumption that Angels were supposed to be lawful and just, or perhaps he had it confused with all the popular court dramas on the television. “Gabriel was very unhappy with you, angel. I think his exact wording was ‘shut your stupid mouth and die already.’ I suppose our stopping the apocalypse simply was the last straw.”

  
The Angel’s bottom lip quivered just a bit, and tears were brimming in his eyes. He took a breath to compose himself and scooped another spoonful of chocolate mousse into his mouth. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not going back.”

  
Crowley didn’t like that. His friend did his best and meant well, so much that he practically oozed goodness and love. Sometimes it was enough love and goodness that it made Crowley want to throw up, but that is besides the point. “Whatever d’you mean?”

  
“I mean I don’t want to go back up there or do any sort of paperwork or see Gabriel’s stupid face ever again.”

  
“Bit harsh, angel. Surely you’ll want to go back eventually? It’s Heaven. You’re supposed to love it there.”

  
Aziraphale’s spoon clattered onto the porcelain plate, not quite so loud as to disturb the other guests dining around them, but loud enough to make Crowley sit up ever so slightly. The Demon’s lip twitched up. “No need to make a whole scene-”

  
“Crowley, I’ve only ever been miserable whenever I have to go Upstairs. All they do up there is chastise me for performing too many miracles, and-and-and for being soft, and for liking food and books, and all the very Good things humans make! They’re so good at making Good things, so isn’t it my job as an Angel to appreciate and love them?”

  
The wily serpent squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable hearing his friend had been so distraught all these years and felt, all at once, that he wasn’t so different from Aziraphale. He loved Earthly comforts and music and clothes and the crazy things they did with hair, and sunglasses and the invention of wine and other wonderful alcoholic beverages. He didn’t know how to put it into words, because of course, it sounded like the right thing to say.

  
You see, when a Demon attempts to do the Right Thing, several events take place. The first event to occur is a terrible feeling, very similar to a bad case of acid reflux, rises up to the back of the Demon’s throat and is generally very unpleasant. Next, a letter notating the Good Deed arrives on a greasy desk in Heaven and Hell’s shared accounting firm on the ground floor of the head office. This is where the Good Deed is noted ‘completed’ in its respective Good Book, and the receipt is placed in the Deed-Doer’s record, filed away until someone is nosy enough to go digging, and hardly anyone wanted to sort through several millennia worth of receipts (all of this normally takes place in a very efficient and timely manner, however the past twenty four hours were not normal and anything listed under Anthony J. Crowley was promptly thrown into the bin as he was to be left alone until further notice). The third and final event that takes place is a bit of a tingly itching sensation that was just out of reach, which was the indication that punishment for the Good Deed was very close, given that the Demon was caught during a routine follow-up.

  
Crowley only experienced some heartburn, which he blamed on the rich herb crusted lamb lollipops a couple courses ago.

He only managed to utter a “Ngk,” in response to his friend’s quite emotional outburst because of the heartburn.

  
“I don’t suppose you would know,” said Aziraphale. “It was a silly question to ask.”

  
“Wasn’t… Wasn’t silly. You want to know what I think, Aziraphale? I think you’re a damn good Angel. Better than most. That lot Upstairs doesn’t know the first thing about loving Earth and the humans. You? Earth loving expert, you.” Crowley took a big drink from his water glass to get the bile taste off of the back of his tongue. He watched Aziraphale’s face, and how the Angel’s expression changed from Upset to Mild Shock during Crowley’s comforting words. After that, the Angel almost smiled again.

  
“What are we to do, Crowley? Neither side wants us around them.”

  
“Been thinking about that, actually. Both sides know where our flats are if they decide to start bothering us again some day. I don’t suppose you’d object to a nice change in scenery?”

  
“Are you suggesting we become flatmates somewhere? How… forward of you.”

  
“I was thinking more of a nice cottage. Flats are a bit too modern for you anyway, angel.”

  
“I hear that South Downs is lovely this time of year. We’d be by the sea, and large rolling expanses of hills and-”

  
“And wineries to warm us through the coming fall and winter, eh?”

  
“But Soho and the bookshop would be at least four hours away.”

  
“Nonsense, angel. I’ll drive you there in twenty minutes flat and drop you off whenever you want to open up your shop. I’ll even swing by to take you back home.”

  
Aziraphale’s breath hitched, just slightly, and his mouth bloomed into a grin. “I think that might just be my speed.”

  
Dessert was polished off with another glass of something sweet and bubbly, and more than a couple fresh french macarons with a scrumptious raspberry filling were munched on after the chocolate mousse was gone. One of them covered the bill, and for once it didn’t matter which one of them did it, because neither the forces Heaven nor Hell were keeping track of them. Rising from his seat, Crowley extended his arm for the Angel to take, and Aziraphale looped their arms together. The Ritz would see them again, on several more occasions, all of them at a mysteriously available table for two right in the center of the dining floor, the best seats in the house.

  
\----

  
In Heaven, a meeting was being held in front of the Metatron. Gabriel and Michael and Uriel and Sandalphon were fretting over the video recording of the attempted destruction of the Principality Aziraphale.

  
“You see, I don’t think that Aziraphale is exactly an angel anymore, Metatron-”

  
“SILENCE, GABRIEL. I CAN SEE FOR MYSELF,” said the Metatron, whose voice boomed no matter how large the room was. He was the Voice of God, after all, and what he was seeing was very concerning indeed. “A ROGUE ANGEL IS LOOSE AND RATHER UNPREDICTABLE. SOMETHING IS TO BE DONE ABOUT HIM SO THE END OF THE WORLD AND THE WAR MAY BEGIN.”

  
“There is another to be concerned about, sir,” said Uriel, lowering her head. “We believe that Aziraphale has been conspiring with a demon since as early as the Beginning.”

  
“Yes, the demon Crowley,” said Michael. “He cannot be destroyed with even the Holiest of Holy Water. I saw it with my own eyes… He asked for a towel. What else was I supposed to do?”

  
“WHAT WAS IT THAT THEY WANTED?”

  
“They uh, wanted to be left alone,” said Sandalphon, a bit meeker than he meant for it to be.

  
“TWO MESSES THAT THE ARCHANGELS OF HEAVEN CANNOT CLEAN UP. PERHAPS IT IS TIME TO TELL THE ALMIGHTY ABOUT YOUR SHORTCOMINGS.”

  
“No!” Gabriel shouted. “I-I’ll come up with something. I just need time. We don’t know what we’re up against yet, but everything has a weakness. I’ll find it. We’ll all find it. Isn’t that right?” He gave a grin, which he was rather bad at doing, and nodded his head at the others.

  
The group of Archangels nodded and murmured their agreements, and also wished Gabriel’s mouth wasn’t so big.

  
“I AM GOING TO GIVE YOU SEVEN DAYS, GABRIEL. IF THE PROBLEM CANNOT BE FIXED BY THEN, THEN THE ALMIGHTY WILL DEAL WITH ALL OF YOU IF SHE SEES FIT.”

  
“Ohh, thank you, your generosity knows no bounds, Metatron!” praised Michael, trying to, for lack of better human phrases, kiss ass.

With that, the Metatron vanished in a puff of glittering sparkles.

  
“Gabriel, you had better come up with something good. We have an unmeltable Demon and a hellfire proof Angel. Where do we even begin?” scolded Uriel.

  
“I think I might have an idea. Surely they grew at least a little bit attached to the child they raised up for eleven years, wouldn’t you agree?” Gabriel’s purple eyes shone with something that might very well have been mischief.

  
The group looked at each other and grinned terrible grins that did not belong on the faces of celestial and angelic beings of light. An American Ambassador’s home was about to be short one small boy.


	2. Warlock Dowling's Tutors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warlock makes a phone call. Crowley and Aziraphale attempt to settle in their South Downs cottage.

Chapter Two: Warlock Dowling's Tutors

The Dowling Residence was often much too big and much too lonely for an eleven year old boy. Certainly he had friends, but they hardly ever wanted to come over considering they had to be screened by the security officers every time they entered a new room in Warlock’s home. It was at times like this that he longed for his childhood nanny to come and tell him that he was important and powerful, and the old gardener to tell him that he was kind. 

They had left when he turned six, of course, and an odd and quite quirky couple of tutors replaced them both. Mr. Harrison liked to talk about wars through the ages, and focused on powerful and often Fascist leaders of the past and their successes. He was far more interesting, but more strict than Mr. Cortese, who didn’t give him tests or quizzes, but always had something nice to eat in his candy jar if Warlock did particularly well on a subject. The boy’s favorite candy was always in that jar, as if Mr. Cortese magically knew that he loved banana flavored chewing gum. 

Warlock assumed his tutors were on holiday, as he hadn’t seen them since a week before his birthday party. He was meaning to ask Mr. Cortese if he had a relative who was a rather rubbish magician who performed at parties. They had looked so similar, but Mr. Cortese was a bit portlier and had a nicer mustache. Mother was home for now, so Warlock decided to ask her.

“Mum, are you busy?”

“Not at all, Warlock. Just taking some cookies out of the oven. I think I’ve got a knack for baking. Want to try one?”

“Maybe later. I was just wondering when my tutors would be back? I have a question for Mr. Cortese.”

“Oh. I’m sorry, honey. I’ve been meaning to tell you. You passed the grade level they can teach. If you need it, we’ll find you new ones if you need some, but your scores are fine.”

Warlock sighed. “I suppose I don’t need one right now. Can I go play in the garden?”

“Yes, dear, I’ll call you when it’s time to wash for lunch.”

Warlock trudged outside, head down and spirits sullied. His tutors were the most fun part of the day. Their lessons were so interesting and taught him all sorts of important things he needed to know as the son of an Ambassador. At least, that’s what they had told him. He sat on the swing set his parents had bought him a few birthdays ago and kicked his legs so he could rock back and forth. The guards were changing shifts, swapping with others whose faces Warlock had not seen before. One of them had a mouth full of gold fillings that glittered even from a distance. He was also fatter than Warlock thought guards normally should be. There were three more new ones, an older looking woman who never stopped smiling, a stern looking woman, and a very tall man who kept staring at Warlock. Warlock stuck his tongue out at that one, kicking his legs harder to get more height on his swinging.

Gabriel frowned at the boy. “You sure that’s the one, Sandalphon? He’s so… normal.”

“I’m certain of it. He’s the one that was supposed to be the Antichrist. Son of an American Ambassador. Americans… He’s picked up the accent from living here, though,” Sandalphon reassured.

“Americans,” sneered Uriel. “Mucked up God’s green Earth with their love of coal and oil and all that nonsense. Their fault Pestilence retired.”

The group of Archangels in disguise thought about how lovely Pestilence was, and how fun plagues of locusts were, and how much they were not a fan of the newer Horseman, Pollution. Wherever they walked, crinkly wrappers seemed to tumble out from under every step.

“We’re getting distracted,” Gabriel grumbled. “Where did that kid go?”

Warlock knew very well that if his father had hired new guards in their embassy, they would only be American, and in the best of shape. These were very clearly impostors, and Warlock thought it well enough to go hide in the hydrangeas until he could think of a better plan. That better plan was to call a trusted adult.

\----

Crowley managed to find a cottage miraculously left to him in the will of someone who had recently passed away. It was not in the best shape, but he was fond of the shows on the television that had people very nicely restore old homes to their former glory. It was his most impressive project he was undergoing in recent years, the last greatest being the M25. He was wearing dishwashing gloves, a cooking apron, and plastic coverings over his snakeskin shoes, scraping grout and meticulously placing tiles. Aziraphale, dressed in a smock over his usual outfit, sans the overcoat and with the sleeves of his blue button down shirt rolled to his elbows, was painting different colored swatches onto the walls, humming and hawwing over paint samples and how they looked dry and in the natural sunlight.

“Aziraphale, I think I might regret getting a cottage with you if you can’t pick a color. You’ve been looking at those for damn near a week.”

“I’m trying, I’m trying. They’re all so nice and light.”

“Terrible choices, I’m glad I’m not letting you paint my bedroom.”

“Don’t be mean, or I will paint your bedroom, my dear boy.”

Crowley smiled and went back to grouting tile in their kitchen. “What do you think, angel? A tiled kitchen floor. Fabulous.” He gestured to his work in progress.

“Classic, even. I’m certain it will be great once you finish.”

That made Crowley very happy. He enjoyed praise, especially coming from his more celestial friend.

Aziraphale smiled and scrunched his nose at Crowley. “I think I’ve narrowed my colors down to two, though. I’m nearly done deciding. I just need to make sure that I like the look of them when it’s around twilight and that lovely orange light comes through the window.”

“Right, right. Sounds frivolous enough for you to even think about.”

Aziraphale pointed his paintbrush at Crowley in an accusatory manner. “You may think it sounds frivolous today, but you’ll think otherwise when I’ve picked the color and painted our living area.”

Crowley raised his hands in mock defense. “Yes, angel, whatever you say. Here I am slaving and sweating away over the floors of the kitchen, and I don’t even cook.”

Aziraphale stuck a tongue out at him. He could play childish too, knowing full well that Crowley did not sweat, and in fact hated sweating at all. Besides, Aziraphale would hate to ruin his fresh manicure with grout and tiling. He insisted on keeping his angelic hands as soft as they could be. That was the excuse, anyway. In all reality, the angel just enjoyed a good pampering.

After a few more moments of meticulous grouting and tiling and wall studying, their newly installed telephone began to ring. Aziraphale looked mildly annoyed, as per usual when the phone rang. He much preferred the days where one was forced to either carefully write a letter or meet in person, but he picked up anyway.

“You have reached the residence of Anthony Crowley and A.Z. Fell, what is the nature of your call?” There was a pause, and Aziraphale’s eyes widened. “Warlock? Is that you, my dear?”

\----

Two years ago, Mr. Cortese was comforting a young Warlock Dowling and nursing a knee scrape back to health, because to a nine year old, the slightest injuries were life threatening if blood was coming out.

“Now, Warlock,” Mr. Cortese began, in a low, but soothing tone, “you could have called for me if Mr. Harrison’s little dog was frightening you. You can call me anytime you need help, you know.”

“B-but Mr. Cortese, I don’t have your phone number. I was just trying to pet the dog.”

“Right, yes. Here, I have a card, I do like cards. Easier to keep track of,” he had said, procuring a business card from his pocket and handing it to the sniffling boy.

That card had remained in Warlock’s possession ever since, just in case he needed saving from other mean dogs. Thankfully, he had received the newest model of Apple iPhone for his birthday, and was putting it to good use for something far more important than dogs.

“Mr. Cortese, you know how you said if I ever needed help, I should call you? Well, I think I need help. The guards at my house. I haven’t ever seen them before. Sometimes there’s new guards, you know, but not all at the same time, and one of them was staring at me.”

Warlock moved a branch aside to peek at the guards, who were looking around the garden. Looking for him.

“Are you sure, Warlock, that you haven’t seen any of them before?” Asked Mr. Cortese, sounding concerned.

“Yes, I’m sure. I think I would remember a man with gold teeth and another man who was really tall and never blinks, and two lady guards that smile lots.”

“Warlock, do not move a single muscle. I’ll be there shortly. I’ll bring Mr. Harrison, too.”

“Okay. Okay, they’re getting closer, I’ve got to hang up.”

Crowley, being a more practical person than Aziraphale, took the phone out of Aziraphale’s hands after hearing enough of whatever this was. “Do not hang up, boy, I’m going to be right there,” he said in a low grumbly voice he used particularly for his little tutor persona. He grabbed Aziraphale by the hand and jumped into the phone line, racing through electricity with blinding speed, all while dragging an angel behind him who was way out of his element.

“Crowley, what on earth are we doing?!”

“Shortcut, angel, much faster way of finding him if he’s just on the other side of the line! Just enjoy it!”

“Enjoy it?! We’re as small as atoms and you want me to enjoy it?!” Aziraphale had never done something like this before, much preferring to walk or take a cab or have Crowley drive him somewhere. This was too fast and far too haphazard for his liking. “How do you know how to do this?”

“I’ve done loads of mucking up around here, stirring trouble, causing anger and doubt and all that! Practically an expert! Hold on, it’s time to jump!” Crowley shouted. “Aaaaaah!”

Aziraphale and Crowley emerged from the tiny speaker on Warlock’s new phone, which was lying in the grass with no boy to be seen. Aziraphale quickly snapped himself and his Demon into their tutor disguises before anyone could see, and looked around the garden. “Warlock? Warlock, dear, where have you gone?”

“They took him,” said Crowley, picking a white feather off of the ground. “Your Angel friends took him away.”

“They are not my friends. People who kidnap children are no friends of mine. Why, we have to fetch him back! Whatever could they want with a normal eleven year old boy?” Aziraphale was fretting, wringing his hands together and dabbing his forehead with a miracled handkerchief. 

“I don’t think it has much to do with the boy, Aziraphale, I think they’re trying to lure us.” Crowley twirled the feather between his fingers. He was certain it had to do with the apocalypse, or the lack thereof. “We did ruin their war. I imagine they’re going to try to kill us, or at the very least trap us somewhere we can’t get out.”

“Fine, then, what’s your plan? We have to make sure they haven’t hurt the boy.”

“Well, best plan I’ve got is to get Upstairs and cause some trouble.”

Aziraphale fidgeted and his shoulders wiggled, but not in their normal way that indicated that he was content or excited about something. He wiggled in an anxious way. In fact, if you were to look up the dictionary definition for fretting at this moment in time, you would find a very nice illustration of Aziraphale doing just this. “Trouble. Right. You and I stirring up… trouble.”

“You’ll do great. Speaking of trouble, I think the actual guards are coming,” Crowley mumbled, raising his hands innocently when guns were starting to be pointed and shouts of “get on the ground” were coming from every direction.

Aziraphale gasped and did the same, raising his hands and looking around at the ten or so guards. “I think we ought to get out of here.”

“Of course, angel.” Crowley waved his fingers goodbye and thought with all his might about his Bentley. “Just a mo’,” he grumbled. 

Squealing tires and the Best Of Queen split through the air as Crowley’s faithful car crashed through the hedges and circled the Angel and Demon. “Ahh, just in time, my lovely! Let’s go, shall we? Pop in, angel. Back seat.”

Bullets were bouncing off the frame of the car with not a dent to be seen. Crowley and Aziraphale got in and the car sped off and away. Very soon, the news would say that a Mr. Cortese, and a Mr. Harrison were suspected of kidnapping an eleven year old boy, and that they were guilty of breaking and entering. The news would then give a license plate number, and the description of a black 1933 Bentley, to aid in the search effort. 

The news did not account for a black 1933 Bentley driven so incredibly fast that it didn't matter whether or not people saw them at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my readers for all the Kudos and hits. Thank you, Chelsea and Rachel, for proofreading this Unholy Mess and giving me inspiration to write.


	3. Eternal Damnation Is Not So Bad, Once You Get Used To It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale goes upstairs and stirs up some trouble. This chapter has some violence.

Chapter Three: Eternal Damnation Is Not So Bad, Once You Get Used To It

Getting Upstairs and causing some trouble was a difficult concept for Aziraphale to grasp on the drive there. His palms were sweating, as were his temples, and he dabbed at himself with a handkerchief. He felt so entirely unsure, and a little disappointed that he didn’t get to wear his little human teacher outfit for very long. Crowley found it difficult to concentrate on driving with his Angel huffing and whining beside him.

“Aziraphale, you’re overthinking this.”

“I don’t think there’s such a thing as thinking too much when it comes to making mischief in my workplace.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t consider Heaven your workplace. You hardly ever report there anyhow. You stay mostly on Earth, like me.” Crowley looked at his friend and smiled. “And you know the biggest trouble-maker in Hell. You’ll be a natural.”

Aziraphale smiled back, sheepish. “You truly think so?”

“Would I lie to you? Er, don’t answer that.”

They drove and drove until they got into London, and Crowley pulled the Bentley up to the curb. He made sure he looked impeccable, his sunglasses pushed up, hair all ruffled, tie and jacket straight and wrinkle free. Aziraphale simply continued sweating. 

“Make some trouble. Find out where they took Warlock, get him, and… Go home,” murmured Aziraphale.

“Yeah, seems simple enough, but what do we do after he goes home? They know where he lives, not like they’ll up and give the Americans a new embassy for fun. They’ll just up the security and make him miserable,” noted Crowley.

“That’s what I’m concerned about. We’re here, but I don’t think this was nearly as thought through as we would like it to be.”

“Better take the stairs up instead, angel.” Crowley got out of the car and opened the door for Aziraphale. “We did our best. Just have to keep pressing on.”

So they took the stairs and trudged and meandered and dawdled their way up.

“Feels like we’re in trouble,” Crowley tried, in an attempt to stay light hearted.

“We are,” Aziraphale said simply. “Big trouble, I would suppose.”

The door was open. They were being waited for. A gathering of Angels and Archangels and a sleeping boy stood before them. The whole thing reminded Crowley of a courtroom, as he was so fond of watching on the television. Aziraphale put on a smile as best as he could, standing in front of Crowley as if to protect him. Nothing was the demon’s fault, really. Aziraphale was the one that nearly killed the Antichrist, after all. 

“Don’t worry,” began Gabriel, holding a stack of folders from the accounting firm, “this trial isn’t for the demon. He knows his crimes, Hell will deal with him how they see fit. You, Aziraphale, you’ve been busy the last six thousand years, haven’t you?”

“Busy, yes. I suppose you could say that. I’ve been busy on Earth loving all of the things God’s creatures have accomplished. Is there anything wrong with that?” Aziraphale asked, holding his head up high, hands clasped in front of himself. “What does Warlock have to do with any of this? He’s a human, a regular human we were led to… believe was the antichrist.” The Angel moved towards the sleeping Warlock, but Gabriel held out his arm to stop him.

“Warlock Dowling is only here to ensure you would show. We’ll send him home when we’re done. He’ll think this whole thing was just a bad dream,” said Gabriel. He started to leaf through the folders, listing off various miracles, some as frivolous as paying sushi tabs, and others like dry cleaning and fixing scraped knees and wishing away mold spots on books. “You see, Aziraphale, all these miracles aren’t really miracles. You used to do such great things. We were proud of you for stepping up as a new Angel and volunteering to guard the Eastern Gate of Eden! You even came with a flaming sword. What wasn’t to like about Aziraphale?” Gabriel turned to look at the crowd, the jury he had gathered to witness him take out this lying traitor. The crowd murmured amongst themselves, confused as to where this was going.

Aziraphale swallowed and adjusted his tie that felt a bit too tight. Crowley’s chest was puffed, in an attempt to look brave, but he also wanted to be behind his angel. Tension was getting higher and higher. 

“What’s your point about it, Gabriel?” Crowley asked. “Get on with it, we have a lunch reservation.”

Aziraphale turned to look at Crowley and shook his head. “Please, not now…”

“The point is,” barked Gabriel, “Aziraphale has been found out. I found him out. Would you rather I tell them, or did you have some explaining to do, Raphael?” The Archangel brandished a folder and flung it at Aziraphale.

The jury went quiet. Aziraphale’s smile vanished. “Oh, dear. I’ve nearly forgotten about that. I was so careful.” He took in a breath and looked at all the other Angels staring at him, and felt Crowley’s stare from behind him. He picked the folder off of the ground and read his name on the front. His old name.

“I can explain myself,” Aziraphale said, a bit timidly. He cleared his throat and dabbed the sweat off his forehead, and started to spill. “The first war was rather frightening and gruesome, you know, and so many Angels were falling and even my dear apprentice fell, and I felt so guilty that I couldn’t protect him, so I hid.” 

Crowley took the folder out of Aziraphale’s hands. “Angel, what are you on about?” He opened it and flipped through the pages and the pictures, although ‘pictures’ were a bit of a stretch when back in those days, Angels were non-corporeal and liked it that way. He stopped on an image of himself, an Angel a long time ago when his hair was long and wild and his mentor taught him how to make galaxies.

“And I wanted to go to Earth where no one was really paying much attention,” Aziraphale continued, “because I figured that was where he was. I was right, of course, he fell because he loved the Earth. So, I took my sword and made myself look like this, then it was all tickety-boo for such a long time. I was recruited right away, I even made up a new title, Principality. Then, when they said the Apocalypse was happening, well I simply couldn’t lose everything I love, not again. I love the Humans. I love the clothes and the books and the food and tea.”

Crowley’s heart shattered to pieces. He wanted to crumple up the folder and burn it and erase it from his mind. He had never wanted to strangle his best friend more than he did right this moment. “You lied to me.”

“I was selfish for doing that, my dear. I missed you so terribly, and I didn’t know if you would’ve hated me for not being able to keep you safe. I was always trying to see if perhaps I forgave you, you would have faith again.”

“This whole time, angel? You played dumb in Eden, you were all pious in Golgotha, and now I’ve found out that you were an Archangel- my Archangel?” Crowley felt his throat thicken and his eyes prickle with tears. He didn’t cry often, but looking back, he seemed to exclusively cry about Aziraphale. “I made Alpha Centauri for you.”

Aziraphale couldn’t meet Crowley’s eyes. He was selfish, and hedonistic, and guilty. “I never meant for it to go this far.”

The jury of other Angels were chattering, shocked that an Archangel would dare stand against Heaven and all for the love of some Demon.

“So he admits guilt,” said Gabriel, with his loud voice carrying over the commotion. “He admits he’s a guilty lying Archangel who ruined the apocalypse. We haven’t made an Angel fall for thousands of years. Maybe we can’t kill you with Hell Fire or Holy Water, but boy, I hear the sulfur pits are sweltering this time of year. We’ll make sure you’re busy suffering while we bring on the troops.”

This was to the great delight of the jury, who cheered and hissed and shouted chants of ‘guilty’ and ‘bad angel’ at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale did not struggle when he was taken by the arms towards some elevator doors that would normally take one to the lobby of the head offices’ building, they opened, slowly and dramatically, with smoke and embers pouring out instead of the usual bland elevator interior. In fact, it was very much just the open elevator shaft. He only struggled to pause before the drop. “I’ll do it myself,” he fretted. “Let me have the last shred of dignity in this place. Honestly!” He tugged his arms away and looked at everyone, then at Crowley. 

“You aren’t going to get me to feel sorry for you,” Crowley hissed.

“No, no, of course not. I’d just like to say something before… Um… falling.”

Gabriel shrugged. “Make it quick.”

“Crowley, I’ve had it backwards this whole time. You were never unforgivable. I am unforgivable. I gave the flaming sword away to the first Humans. I’m the whole reason the Apocalypse can even happen at all. I should be begging for your forgiveness. And it’s… it’s quite alright if you never grant it, but you shouldn’t worry or be afraid, my dear. Everything will be just as God planned it.” He smiled a little, and took a deep breath.

Crowley took off his sunglasses and glared at him, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. He opened his mouth, but didn’t manage to say anything back before Aziraphale fell backwards down the elevator shaft. 

——

It had been thousands of years since an Angel had fallen from the heavens. When it happens, Hell can feel it. It feels like grace and love and light glowing brighter than any candle being snuffed out in an instant. It made Beelzebub sit up in their rotting throne. The shuffling corpses around them stopped shuffling. Even the flies stopped buzzing for a moment.

“Any of you lot know where the elevator izzz?” Asked Beelzebub.

“No, m’lord,” said the corpses.

“We had better find it, I think.” 

Beelzebub stood and started to walk down the dingy, dark, and damp halls of Hell, following the crowd to a broken elevator door that kept trying to shut completely, but something was in the way. After some shoving and cursing at Demons to move, it was discovered to be a leg, bent at an odd angle that heavily suggested a broken bone, attached to a pudgy looking Angel with white curled hair. 

“Ah,” said the Prince of Hell, “Heaven’s given uzzz quite the treat. Been a long time since we’ve properly tortured a naughty Angel. And this one hazzz been very very naughty.” Beelzebub snapped their fingers and had the Angel dragged quite roughly to a room where he was tied to an uncomfortable metal folding chair. His head had rolled about, and he hadn’t uttered a single complaint.

“He’s quite unconscious, m’lord,” said a Demon. “What should we do about it?”

“Well,” said Beelzebub, “why don’t you take those lovely white wingzzz of his and get to plucking. It would be no good if he tried to fly away.”

After about ten feathers, the Angel started to wake up. This was a poorly calculated time to wake up, as it prompted the demons surrounding him to pluck faster and far more aggressively, practically by the fistful. The screaming was delightful and full of pain and misery, and eventually, delicious wet sobs even came out. 

Beelzebub watched and enjoyed the writhing, and some flies in their swarm zig-zagged over to fester upon the new wounds being opened up in his flesh. Red was staining the white feathers that were discarded on the floor. 

“Got anything to say, Angel? What, no pleading? In too much pain?” The Prince taunted.

The Angel looked up and met their eyes. The sobbing stopped. “You have no idea what you’re going to lose.”

“Excuzzze me?”

“The war you so desperately want. If you win. If you lose. It doesn’t matter. You lose either way.”

“... Pluck him again. Pluck him until he has nothing but bloody stumpzzz on his back, then throw him into a burning pile of coalzzz. I won’t be hearing nonsense from a fallen Angel. Not today.” Beelzebub left the room for the Demons to pull as many feathers as they desired. Walking past the elevator shaft to leave, the Prince of Hell heard the faintest of shouts, and leaned in. 

“Hello?”

Another thud echoed from the elevator shaft, and the door opened for Anthony Crowley. 

“Hello, Beelzebub. I thought we closed this old hole for good. Where are you keeping him?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, traitor? You’ve conspired with him for thousands of yearzzz.”

“Right, yes, well, no good siding with Heaven when they shove your fake best friend down into Hell and he ruins your friendship. Just want to make sure he gets the proper hellish welcome.”

“You… Want to torture him?” Beelzebub squinted in suspicion, but it wasn’t as if they knew exactly how to kill a Demon that wouldn’t melt in Holy Water.

“Something like that, yes.” Crowley kept his cool and hid his yellow tear stained eyes behind his sunglasses. He had to keep up the ruse he was damn near indestructible.

“... Interesting. He should be nearly done being plucked. Come.”

——

Aziraphale was done being plucked, with his poor wings being nothing now but bloody stumps. He had toppled himself onto the floor while trying to free himself from the restraints, but only succeeded in being a heap. He whimpered and tried to wiggle and stretch, but nothing was budging really, and his hand was getting numb and his broken leg was throbbing and swelling. “You’ve really mucked this one up, old boy,” he breathed. His voice was ragged from all the screaming. He put his head down on the floor and sighed. “Why didn’t I just… tell him the truth?”

“Because you’re an idiot,” Crowley said, with the metal door clanging shut and locking behind him. “And so am I for coming down here.”

“Crowley…”

“I told them I was here to torture you, I imagine they’ll keep that door locked until I do.”

“Will you?”

“Nah, not my style. Just wanted to ask you if it was all a lie.” He tilted his head and circled around Aziraphale to try to get a good look at his always expressive face. He tried to recognize his old mentor, but that was from before Angels had faces.

Aziraphale did not look up at him. “I was going to tell you. Eventually, when God forgave you. That was when I wanted to do it. But then, more and more time went on and you never were forgiven. I got comfortable as Aziraphale. I got comfortable with you as we were.” He grunted and tried to shift on the floor to take pressure off painful spots.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yes.”

“You could’ve been so powerful when it would’ve been helpful. I was your student, I made Alpha Centauri for you. I wanted us to run there because it was special to me. We spent so much time on this bloody Earth ‘thwarting’ each other and you could’ve stopped every single awful thing I did and then some.”

“I know, Crowley. I know. But I was afraid, if they found me out, I would lose you again, surely,” he breathed, his willpower starting to bend under the pain of a broken body.

“And what about now? Can’t you pull some Archangel magic out of your arse?”

“I’ve fallen, I’m afraid. No magic, not of the heavenly sort. You know.”

Crowley’s chest felt heavy. He did know what it was like to lose all of the Heavenly grace inside him and feel awful, dark, and sinful magic creep inside his pores. But they didn’t pluck Crowley’s feathers or break his body. He supposed Aziraphale must be suffering more than enough. “... Yeah. I know.”

Crowley grabbed the back of the metal chair and hoisted Aziraphale upright with a bit of effort. “Oh, angel, what have they done with you…? You’re bleeding, your leg’s all out of sorts.” He started to take off the metal chains biting into the Angel’s skin, and tossed them aside.

Aziraphale slumped a little. “They would unlock the door if you did something, anything to me. You could fly away and hide until the war they want blows over.” He rubbed his trembling hands together to try to get the feeling of cold metal out of them. Crowley snatched up his angel’s hands and planted his lips on soft palms and fingers. The Demon felt that in the heaviness of his chest, he still felt a soft sort of way. Love, he supposed. It was a sticky, messy feeling that kept him coming back for all those thousands of years.

“I could never… You’re an idiot for what you did, but you’re my idiot.” He pulled Aziraphale into an embrace, then sank with him off of the chair and onto the ground.   
“You’re my angel.”

Aziraphale’s face felt flushed and tears pricked his eyes and started tumbling down his cheeks like bowling balls down the lane. Being held by a very slim and gangly Demon was, by all means, classified as the worst hug to be conceived in History, but to Aziraphale, it felt like a warm and weighted blanket being wrapped around him.   
“Forgive me,” the Angel begged, voice warbling with tears.

“Always, forever. I was a fool for not saying it before you belly flopped down here. I’m here. I’ve got you.”  
Aziraphale tucked his face against Crowley’s nice jacket and sobbed while his body succumbed to pain and dragged him into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who is still reading. It makes me so happy to see the number of people reading this go up every day.


	4. Bedside Manners and Stained Linens

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley finds his Angel and does his best to nurse him to health.

Chapter Four: Bedside Manners and Stained Linens

Crowley no longer wanted to strangle his dear friend, especially after seeing his skin mottled with bruisings from the iron chains, and the sad excuse for wings dripping with dark ruby blood. He sat in the little cell, not unlike the one that they used to keep the Hellhound in, with his angel collected in his lap. Quite the predicament, really. He took a good look around at everything and sneered. There was one ventilation shaft, but there was no way that both of them as they were could possibly fit.

“Well… you won’t be waking up any time soon, angel, so perhaps you won’t exactly notice if I shrunk you down into something small,” he murmured, glancing at the locked door. The squint door was shut, so they weren’t being observed at the moment. Their captors were probably too busy being disgusted in the both of them. Crowley took this opportunity to take a breath and start to summon up some demonic magic and wave it around Aziraphale.

“Remind me to badger you about eating too many crepes,” Crowley said, struggling to make the rather pudge angel a bit more compact and manageable. It was working, with the Angel stopping his shrinking at the size of a well loved guinea pig, still sound asleep. Crowley didn’t have much time to admire the work, though. He had a ventilation shaft to wiggle through in a more serpentine way. Crowley tucked Aziraphale into his inner coat pocket and started to slim and elongate, with his legs more or less fusing together into a long black snake tail, but he kept the arms so his jacket would not slip off and lose the Angel.

“Right, thisss ssshould work. Hang on, my dear, I’ll get you home and well,” he hissed, mostly to reassure himself. His now half serpentine form slithered to the ventilation and slipped up and through. He made sure the lump in his pocket wasn’t jostled too much, but it wasn’t very long until Aziraphale was bleeding through that jacket. He winced and pressed on, twisting and turning and trying to aim his efforts higher and higher up through every blasted layer of Hell. Eventually, reaching a vent in the street normally used to combat flooding from all the bloody rain England got.

No wonder Downstairs always leaked.

“Almossst there, Aziraphale. Not to worry. Crowley’s going to make it all better. Bandages and all. I’ll even clean you up and tuck you into bed.” He grunted and pressed up on the grates and squeezed them through, transforming his tail back into legs before people walking up and down the street got startled by a half snake man coming out of the storm drain. Instead he looked like a normal looking man coming out of the storm drain, which was just dismissed as some sort of social media stunt for views.  
“Ey! You there!” Crowley shouted at a woman on a bench, clearly waiting for a bus.

“Ehm… Yes…?”

“What city am I in?”

“London?”

“Of course, it’s always bloody London, never anywhere I need to be.” He got up off the ground and whistled at the busy street and waited.

“Sir, I don’t think that’s how taxis work, there’s none nearby,” said the woman.

“I’m not calling for a taxi,” he hissed back, listening for the wonderful screeching tires of his Bentley with brand new plates and a fresh coat of shiny paint. “There you are, my beautiful car,” He crooned, getting in the driver’s side. “The cottage, and stat, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy to do the driving myself.” 

He took Aziraphale out of his pocket and started to grow him back to a more normal size, leaning into the back and placing him on the seats there. “All better. Uh, tickety-boo or whatever you like to say.” He watched and stopped the growing at precisely the right size and found himself petting Aziraphale’s white curls. “Well, nearly, you’re still bleeding all over my interior. I’m sure it’ll come out.” He chewed on his bottom lip in worry. “Maybe stopping another apocalypse or war or whatever just isn’t feasible anymore. But we tried, you know. We did a very good job.”

The Bentley drove the two to their cottage nice and smooth and lightning quick. Crowley got out and carried his very heavy friend into the bedroom and got straight to work with bandages and all, just like he promised. It was very good work, wounds set and wrapped and clothes cleaned and hung up. But, it wasn’t very decent of him to leave Aziraphale nude, not that Angels had genders, but this particular Angel liked his layers. Crowley fitted him with a nightgown and tucked him under the sheets and duvet.   
“Right as rain. I’m sure you’ll appreciate it.” Crowley started to fidget. “Do get up, though… Soon.”

\----

Aziraphale woke up to find himself in a soft bed with silky sheets, and his nightgown on instead of his usual suit and waistcoat and jacket and other accouterments. There was a warmth behind him, and a soothing hand running up and down his arm. He had apparently slept on his side, which was terrible on his neck. Making a small noise of effort, he started to move to get up.

“I’d just relax for now, angel. You’ve gone through quite a lot.”

“How long have I been asleep?”

“A couple of days. I’m starting to think you’re taking after me.”

“A couple of days?”

“I mean, in that the sun has gone away twice and has come back twice.”

“How did you get me out of that dreadful prison cell?”

“Oh, it was easy, really. Door was unlocked, I just carried you right out.”

Aziraphale started to sit up to turn and look at Crowley. His shoulders ached with his neck and extended to his very stiff wings. “Oh, Hell,” he breathed, wincing at the twinges of pain spreading across his back.

Crowley sat up with him and started to rub at his neck muscles. “Ran out of pillows, I wanted your wings to be supported.”

Aziraphale turned around to look at him, finally. “You could have left me. You were right, I’m a liar and I took advantage of you and-“

“Aziraphale,” Crowley interrupted, “you gave me mercy. And forgiveness. No other Angel would’ve done that. I don’t care who you were. I care that you even bothered to come down to Earth to look for me there. That’s what matters.” Crowley did not have his sunglasses on. He looked as if he meant it. “I don’t want to fight anymore with my only friend in the whole world.”

Aziraphale felt his heart pound in his rib cage. “We’re still friends?”

“Wouldn’t have been laying here watching you sleep if we weren’t. I didn’t even fall asleep myself, your breathing was ragged. I had to be sure you would wake up. They did a number on you, but at least feathers come back. I mean, yours might not come back white, though.” Crowley put his hands on Aziraphale’s head to have him turn straight ahead. “Just let me make you feel better. You’ll feel like garbage soon enough.” His long fingers started to rub on sore muscles again. 

Aziraphale hiccuped and felt his face get hot as he began to cry again. “I don’t deserve you as a friend. I’m positively wicked. I’m so sorry about Heaven, I’m sorry I didn’t go with you or-”

“None of that, please. It was a long time ago… Bit of a rubbish fake name, though, now that I think about it. Aziraphale’s got Raphael smacked right on the end of it.” Crowley miracled a handkerchief and dabbed away tears.

Aziraphale took the cloth. “I was pressed for time, dear boy, and I looked different enough that they didn’t care much about it. They thought I fell with you, maybe. Or was destroyed by some Demon.” He blew his nose and wiped his eyes. “When I saw you go, it broke my heart. All the fighting going on, all the rules being made up along the way, I didn’t want to be a part of it. I was soft. I’m still soft. But now I’m not really an Angel anymore either. Soft Demons don’t really work out all too well.”

“Oh, don’t say that, you’re too good to be a Demon. You’ll always be my angel anyway,” Crowley tutted. He moved from behind his friend to sit in front of him on the edge of the mattress. “You don’t have to be Raphael, because you’re not. You’re Aziraphale, the soft Principality that very poorly guarded the Eastern Gate and made friends with the Serpent of Eden. That’s who you are. Only Aziraphale would’ve had the brilliant idea of giving Humans choices and quite literally the whole world to explore.”

Aziraphale finally smiled and more tears poured out of his blue eyes. “You’re being nice,” he said, voice cracking.

“Nicest Demon in Hell. Got invited back in to torture you, left to bandage you right up. Apocalypse two-point-oh hasn’t started, as far as I know. I think both sides are a bit unsteady since I’ve gone and set you free.”

Aziraphale put down the handkerchief and took Crowley’s face into his hands, and pulled him very close. So close, in fact, their mouths were smooshed together in a teary, messy kiss.

Crowley didn’t know what to do with himself. Was he supposed to keep his eyes open? What were his hands supposed to be up to? Aziraphale was kissing him, and he hadn’t even been tempted. He made a noise that sounded like “mmg”, but it was swallowed up. Aziraphale started to pull away, but Crowley didn’t want it to stop. He liked this feeling building up in his chest and belly. It was warm. It was love, he supposed.

“Crowley, was that not what I was supposed to do?” Aziraphale asked.

“I think… I think that was exactly what I needed you to do, angel. Do it again.”

Aziraphale found his fingers twining into Crowley’s bright red hair and his lips finding Crowley’s again and again. Crowley tasted like salt and smoke and metal, and it vaguely reminded Aziraphale of a tartare he once had. There were more fingers, Crowley’s fingers, looping through his white curls, smoothing down his front and gripping his nightgown. It felt amazing, and it went on longer than humanly possible, because Demons don’t need to breathe and neither did Aziraphale, whatever he was.

“Angel, I can’t tell you how long I’ve wanted to do that,” Crowley whispered when Aziraphale’s lips left the Demon’s in favor of his cheek and ear.

“Is it wrong of me to want more?” Aziraphale asked. It made a shiver go up Crowley’s spine.

“No, not wrong. I don’t think you could do the wrong thing, Aziraphale,” Crowley whispered back. “You can take whatever you want, I love you, I’ve always loved you. I don’t think I could ever bring myself to hate you. Even though I said I’d never even think of you, even though I said I wouldn’t feel sorry for you. I’m just a liar.”

“That makes two of us. I love you, Crowley. More than I loved making stars and galaxies. I wanted to see you again more than I wanted to be an Archangel. Is there enough time?”

“No one knows we’re here, angel. We have plenty of time.”

“What does it feel like, Crowley?” Aziraphale was more than a little bashful, cheeks red and eyes avoiding any attempt at locking into Crowley’s. The demon let go of a breath.

“Dunno. Never tried it.”

“Never? But you’re a-“

“Not one of my strong suits, Lust. More of a greed and wrath kind of guy. But you, oh, I’ve only lusted after you. I would’ve ruined you,” Crowley said in a low, rumbling tone.

“I don’t think you could ruin me, but I’d like you to try,” Aziraphale tempted. He wiggled his shoulders in that pleased way he did when he was sitting in front of something delicious. It made Crowley want to stuff him full. He put a hand on Aziraphale’s chest to gently push him down so he way laying again, careful of the wings that were still a little tender. Aziraphale sighed and made himself comfortable while Crowley hovered over him.

“I don’t know where to start, Angel, you’re like a buffet.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale said, thinking. “I do like a buffet. Perhaps after, do you think we can get some lunch?”

Crowley grinned at him. “Anything you’d like. Ah, but angel, I think the important part about this is that you’ve got to have the bits.”

“The bits? Oh, right, yes, the genitals,” Aziraphale agreed, nodding.

“Sounds clinical, but yeah. I’ve got mine, makes the trousers look good.”

“What kind should I have?”

“I don’t think I have a preference. I’m sure whatever you’d like will be fine.”

“I think I’ll just match yours.” Aziraphale furrowed his brows to concentrate. “Hrm… Perhaps… Argh! There.” He uncovered himself from the duvet. A bump had appeared under the nightgown he was wearing, pitching quite the tent. “I’ve got it. Ah, and it’s already ready to go. How lovely.”

Crowley lifted the bottom of the nightgown up. It was a nice looking set of male genitalia, in the Greek sculpture sort of way, nestled in curls that matched the ones on the top of his angel’s head. He expected nothing less. “It’s perfect, love.”

“Oh, thank you.” Aziraphale started to open the buttons on his nightgown from his neck downwards. “I think you have too many pieces of clothing on, Crowley, I’ll be undressed in a moment.”

Crowley swallowed. “Right, I’m on it.” He loosened and unbuckled his snakeskin belt and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down. He had to get up off the bed to wiggle them all the way off. His jacket and shirt were shucked off, so all he had left was his black underpants and a pair of black socks. “I suppose I’ll show you mine?”

Aziraphale looked up from gently peeling off the nightgown over his wings. “Yes, dear, I’m paying attention.”

Crowley pulled down his undergarment and put his hands on his slender hips. He had a very proud erection poking out of a wild ginger mane that trailed up to just under his belly button. Aziraphale’s brows rose. “That is rather large.”

“Yes, well, isn’t that the point? Reaches all the good parts inside.”

“I thought you said you haven’t done this before.”

“Pornography, Aziraphale, it’s free.”

“Right.”

“You look very nice without all those clothes, Aziraphale. I mean, I looked a bit when I changed you out of all those layers you like, but erm. Not the point. Point is… You’re stunning.” Crowley looked at his angel lying on his bed and dove in, hands cupping every curve. Aziraphale gasped at his touching and decided to put his own hands on Crowley’s slim and lanky form. 

“And you look beautiful, you’ve always been beautiful,” said Aziraphale. The touching turned into kissing and kissing went everywhere their mouths could reach, tasting each other’s skin and lips and chests. Their newly miracled parts were bumping and rubbing against each other, prompting gasps from both of them. Aziraphale’s hips lifted up to chase that lovely rubbing and Crowley, being on top of Aziraphale, grinded his hips down so they could join. It was wonderful, they made each other feel wonderful. 

“This is… A sin, angel.”

“I know, dear. One of the first ones. But, I think… I think we will be quite alright, Crowley.”

Aziraphale pulled Crowley’s head closer for more kisses and Crowley gave him all the kisses he could ever want. The Demon was nervous, though. He knew he would eventually have to miracle some lubricant and put his fingers inside of Aziraphale, but the thought of it made steam shoot out of his ears. It was all going so fast.

Aziraphale was patient, encouraging every unsure move Crowley made. He spread his pasty thighs apart and was laying back a bit more. “I do think we should get started. I’d like it very much if we did.”

“Yes, I think so. Goodness, wherever did you find such a wonderful body, Aziraphale?”

Aziraphale giggled and wiggled his shoulders. “Oh, it was an old model set aside in the warehouse. I picked it up and no one was the wiser. Will you be coming in?”

“Oh fuck, angel, I’m getting there. Just nervous. You sound so nonchalant.” Crowley smoothed his hands over Aziraphale’s inner thighs, fingers trailing down past his pink, jutting erection, to his equally pink entrance. “Just… Tell me if you want to stop. We can do something different if it’s too much.”

“Of course, dear,” Aziraphale comforted. “You know how much I like to talk.”

Crowley’s fingers were magically slick and shiny and hesitant. A careful finger circled around it’s goal. Aziraphale sighed and watched Crowley’s long fingers. One slowly slipped inside, and the two gasped. Crowley gasped at how warm it felt. Aziraphale gasped at a rather new sensation. A finger eventually turned into two, which got a few very nice noises from both of them. 

“It’s a bit…” Aziraphale started, having a hard time keeping still.

“Bit what? Too much?” Crowley started to withdraw his hand.

“Bit not enough?”

Crowley blinked at Aziraphale and pressed his fingers in all the way. “You think we’re ready then?”

“Oh! Y-yes, I do.”

“Right, then.”

Crowley swallowed and looked down at himself to make sure he was still alive and breathing and magicked his cock slicked up. “So… I think I just put it in.”

Aziraphale nodded, his cheeks pink and his eyes fluttering. “Yes, I am sure that’s how they do it.”

They looked at each other, chests heaving with their pounding hearts and Crowley sank into Aziraphale’s warm, delicious body, getting the breath punched out of his lungs. The angel had taken it all with his gasping and his little oohs and ahs and many chants of “Crowley, Crowley, Crooowleyyy!” until Crowley was all the way to the hilt, and didn’t waste any time chasing the pleasure that came with stuffing Aziraphale full and having his cock wrapped with soft heat. He snapped his slender hips forward and back, eyes growing more wild by the second. The Demon clutched onto his angel’s plump thighs and used them as his leverage.

Aziraphale found himself rocking to Crowley’s movements, his soft angelic hands reaching up to cup Crowley’s cheek and pet his fiery hair. Aziraphale liked the full feeling of his dearest being so deep inside of him. He found his other hand stroking his cock, trying to match the sharp thrusts of the Demon’s hips, which fit deliciously between his legs. This made certain muscles clench up involuntarily, which made Crowley make little high squeaking noises. 

“Aziraphale, do that more, it’s marvelous, darling, marvelous,” he breathed, when the walls around his cock tightened.

“What do you mean? This?” Aziraphale tried to attempt that same clenching movement and succeeded by the looks of Crowley’s face.

“Yessss, love, that’s fantastic, you’re a natural,” he slurred, drunk and drowning in his angel. Their movements started to become sloppy and erratic, Crowley’s rhythm lost and   
Aziraphale’s wiggling increasing the closer he felt he was getting to the edge of whatever this was. They were sweating and kissing and touching so much, it was hard keeping track of who began and ended where. Crowley felt himself begin to spill, his cock throbbing inside of Aziraphale. “Oh, fuck!”

Aziraphale stroked himself and found himself being filled up even more and dripping with his beloved’s essence, and that toppled him right over after Crowley. The Angel’s orgasm was a quiet, shuddering event that took over his whole body with little quakes and tremors. He didn’t shout, but let out a small “goodness,” when it was all over. 

They caught their breath and stared at each other.

“D’you think…” Crowley started, “You think that was alright? I mean. God’s omnipotent.”

“Honestly, my dear, I don’t think she really minds much of this at all. I’d rather not think about it now. I’d rather have a cuddle and maybe another snooze,” Aziraphale answered, sounding as if he had the most exquisite multi-course meal at the Ritz.

“And a trip to the buffet, don’t forget.”

“Oh, I haven’t.” Aziraphale wrapped his arms around Crowley and turned to lay on his side, prompting Crowley to get his cock out of him. He sighed and his blue eyes fluttered closed. “Thank you, my dear.”

Crowley felt his face get hot with a blush as he relaxed and wrapped his limbs around his Angel. “I love you and all that nonsense.”

“Mm, and I love you and more nonsense on top of it.”


End file.
